Undone
by StardustToRememberYouBy
Summary: "Never give up on someone you can't go a day without thinking about." A series of Neville/Luna one-shots. Was originally a one-shot. MAJOR Neville/Luna. Fourth story is up!
1. Undone

**A/N:** I had originally intended to write this in alternating POVs, like _A Love Like Laughter_ and _In Adoration_, but decided not to so I could lengthen this out a bit more. It is from Neville's POV this time, so perhaps the next one I concoct will be from Luna's. Enjoy! DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood are _not_ my creation, but JK Rowling's. I owe her all the credit.

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Your head tells you to let go and just allow yourself to feel the pain being inflicted upon you as you stand before a group of first years. The Carrows were showing them what happens when orders given were disobeyed. You had outright ignored their instructions and now you felt the consequences. But you can't show them how much you hurt. You can't. You are their only support and their leader. If you show weakness and give in, they will too. So you're forced to stand your ground as you are publicly Crucioed.

With a limp and an erect spine, you hobble back to the Room of Requirement, the one place where you can finally break down and let yourself go. It's late, so your best hope and calculations tell you that your peers and classmates, those loyal to Harry and his cause, are out cold and probably have been for hours. Unfortunately, upon entering the room, you quickly discover you're not the only one still awake.

Luna is awake and had been sitting on the far side of the room, but when she saw you, her usually perky expression quickly vanished and morphed into one of despair at the sight of the wreck you knew you were. She verbally expresses that she is awake because she has been far too worried about you to even imagine falling asleep at a time such as that. This makes you smile, knowing that, at least for a little while, you have been on her mind.

She studies you, pulling you over to her sleep-sack, and gently setting you down on the floor. You wince once as your shirt pulls on an open wound the wrong way. Luna is quite observant and notices your wince, skipping off to grab some extra cloths and a small cauldron. In a matter of a few moments, a liquid concoction is made and you spot steam rising from it. She dips a cloth into the water and lets it soak for a moment as she reaches out to unbutton your shirt.

Your eyes watch her, seeing them grow wider with each button she undoes and you realize that she is just as nervous as you are. Once entirely undone, she slipped it off your shoulders and removed the cloth from the bowl, gingerly placing it onto a wound on your chest. You bite your lip and seethe just once and she smiles at you while caring for your wound. Neither of you says a word as she continues on, tending to each wound on your chest and abdomen before moving to your back.

Without uttering a syllable, she gestures for you to lie down on your stomach so she can properly tend to your back. You oblige to her wishes and she places strips of cloth along the stripes running transverse on your back as though you had been flogged.

Finally, she speaks.

"You really shouldn't defy them anymore," she says lightly.

You are shocked at her words, though, silently, you know she is right. "_Someone_ has to do it. They can't be allowed to get away with their 'punishments'. It isn't punishment—it is _torture_ and I won't stand for it." You can't see her, but you can tell that she has nodded.

"Doesn't mean you have to be Harry's understudy," she wisely states, pressing the cloths into your wounds gently before placing both of her palms against your skin. "We all worry, Neville, and I worry more than most." You can hear the despair in her tone—this is the first time you have ever seen her strong disposition falter even in the slightest. "Don't go out there again, please. I…" She paused and you couldn't see her. Just then, sparks shot down your spine as you felt something warm and slightly wet against your back, and that's when you figured it out. She had placed her lips between your shoulder blades, and now you felt like sobbing, but you didn't. Instead, you sat up quickly, startling her for a moment as she withdrew from you. You weren't going to let her get away that easily, so you took hold of her, pulling her to you and embracing her tightly.

It took her a moment before she hugged you in return, her arms wrapping tightly around your neck. You weave your fingers through her beautiful, wavy locks and place a loving kiss on her neck. She is so warm and soft against you, malleable enough for her body to form to yours.

When you pull away, your hands remain on the sides of her face and you drench your eyes in the sight of her. "_You_ are the reason I stand up to them, Luna," you tell her gently as she closes her eyes. "_You_ are the drive I have to _be_ Harry's understudy. I know I'm not him and I never will be, but I sure as hell can fight the good fight without him."

She opens those big, blue eyes that you adore and stares at you for a moment before nestling her face against your neck. "Just hold me," she pleads. "Hold me like it's the last time." You nod once, kissing the top of her forehead as you once more hold her tightly. Your arms encase her and a soft sigh rumbles in the back of her throat, her own way of letting you know that this is where she belongs. And you smile, knowing that you, as well, are right where you should be: fighting out the good fight with her at your side—or, better yet, in your arms.


	2. Can We Ever? Could We Ever?

***READ THIS BEFORE YOU BEGIN READING THE STORY* A/N: **I never really expected to turn this story into a series, but honestly, I just can't help it. This isn't a continuation, however. This series has morphed from a one-shot to a series of Neville/Luna one-shots. I hope this is satisfactory! I may continue doing alternating POVs, or have one story from Luna's perspective and the next from Neville's, but it depends on the storyline. As you'll read, this is from Luna's POV appropriately. JKR owns, not I.

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"Shh, Fabian, it's alright. Mummy's here—Mummy's got you."  
>Your voice is calm and tender, but that's usually how you talk to your son when he's fussing about. Your hands pat his back as you continue to bounce him, hoping he will cease his ruckus, and that's when it hits you: you're getting quite good with being a parent.<p>

It was no secret to anyone that you hadn't married young like most of your fellow classmates and Hogwarts graduates, but you had taken your time after…You sigh, shaking your head as you shove all thoughts of your first love aside and focus on calming your son.

He soon fell back asleep and after a few more moments—just to make sure—you place him back into his cradle and then head back to the master bedroom. You smile at the sight of Rolf spread-eagle on the bed like a capital "T", and suddenly you're wide awake and don't wish to go back to bed. Instead, you head down to the ground level of your home and watch, from a distance, as various wide birds parade through the sky like they owned it.

You quickly boiled some water and made yourself a fresh pot of tea as insomnia strikes you hard while your eyes search the room, attempting to find something to do to pass the time. Almost immediately, your wide blue eyes find an unopened letter sitting by the sink and etched across the front of the envelope is your name.

Rushing to the sink, your hands grab the letter and practically tear through the envelope as you immediately recognized the handwriting. The handwriting, the same hand that had written your name on the envelope, was the handwriting of one Neville Longbottom.

After the war, you and Neville had quickly dated, consummating your relationship and gleaning every feeling you could possibly muster out of that relationship. It was beautiful and sudden and breathtaking and _insatiable_ and you remember every detail, every miniscule happenstance shared between you, and you suddenly find yourself longing to get back to that time, a time that passed a decade ago.

Quickly opening the letter, your eyes soak themselves in his words, hearing his magnificent voice echo in the back of your head as every syllable was heard with perfection.

_**Darling Luna**_, it began—which was definitely a good sign, _**how are you? God, that's a bad way to start off a long-awaited letter, isn't it? You don't have to sit there lying to yourself—I know it was lame. I do genuinely wish to hear from you, though, given our past, I don't know how appropriate that would be**_**.**

Since when did he ever care how "appropriate" their relationship had been? If he _did_ care now, he couldn't be the same Neville you knew back then.

_**You must understand how difficult this is to write to you, what with Hannah leering over my shoulder, curious as to whom I am writing and what I could possibly be telling them about her.**_

That sounded like Hannah.

_**But I'm not writing to you to tell you how "fantastic" my marriage is, because, frankly, it isn't fantastic. It once was, back when I truly loved her—and I always will—but there's an ache in my heart that only one person can fill…and that's you, Luna. **_

What could he mean? You had wanted so earnestly to marry that goony, clumsy Gryffindor, but he hadn't given off any sign, any indication that that is what he wanted from you, so you let it go. But now, ten years later, _he_ was writing to _you_, and you knew he wasn't a liar, so his words must be true.

_**The days we loved each other were the best, most romantic days of my life, and I've never felt an inkling of that for Hannah. She's just not…you. I know that we haven't stayed in touch over the years, and I heard you're married now and that you have children? I wish you could understand why I envy your husband, however "perfect" for you he may be**_.

You scoff because you understand that Rolf has never been, nor would he ever be, "perfect" for you. That title had always been Neville's, and your heart sinks from the revelation that the nine months wasn't long enough.

_**I know Hannah is expecting our third child—three kids…ME, can you believe it?—together but what she and I have is nothing compared to that summer. I've been asking myself for quite some time, and now I'm asking you…why didn't we elope that summer? Remember we had wanted to, but you were skeptical because of your father and I didn't want to disappoint my Gran? Even still, I wish we had. At least we could rest assured knowing that we hadn't missed out on each other. Unfortunately, that's what we're facing now, and I assume all blame for that.**_

You shake your head, eyes welling with tears because you know that the blame is equally yours. Neither of you wanted to take the risk and though it pains you, you continue reading.

_**Can we ever go back? Could we ever relive those days, those wonderfully happy days we spent together? I suppose not. We have chosen separate lives. People come and go so often in my life, and sometimes they make me a better man for knowing them, and part of the reason is you. You showed me my true potential and that I was so much more than Neville Longbottom, the klutz that broke his wrist the first time he rode a broom. That little boy was dimensions separate from the man that declared passion and made love to you among the roses. I long for your touch, to reach out and feel your skin beneath mine, to weave my fingers through your silvery blonde hair and press my lips to yours. Hannah's fingers do not fit with mine like yours do…and I can't hope but assume that your husband's don't fit yours either.**_

_**I don't say this to mean disrespect—that's not why I'm writing. I'm writing so I'll never wonder ever again if I should've told you that I have always loved you…and that I still do. If you feel the same…what am I saying? It's been ten years…I very much doubt that you do. Just know that I love you—always have, always will—and that I wish you were here**_**.**

_**Loving you made me a man.**_

_**Forever Yours,**_

—_**Neville.**_

A cry from Fabian upstairs stops your sobbing, weary eyes as you struggle to pull yourself together. Folding the letter, you place it into the pocket of your dressing gown, rushing upstairs to cradle your son and hold him to shake yourself back into reality. You bounce him, sniffling just once, and Rolf enters the room, startling you a bit.

"Luna, darling, you alright?" His voice is slightly groggy, but he is genuinely concerned for you.

You smile at him as you nod, suddenly delving knee-deep into a lie. "Of course," you answer before handing Fabian to him and giving him a quick peck on his cheek. "I'm going back to bed."

But that was only half-true. You packed a small bag full of essential clothes and necessities, shoving it under the edge of your side of the bed. You have somewhere to be tomorrow. Somewhere you were daring to tread.

A smile crosses your face as memories wash over you, and you find yourself dreaming dangerously of a man who was not your husband. But it's only a dream, so you don't think much more about it when you wake up.

It had been far too long.

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**A/N:** That was so random! Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are much appreciated! More to come.


	3. At the Touch of Her, Sequel to Chapter 2

**A/N:** This is a sort of sequel to _Can We Ever? Could We Ever?_ It is from Neville's point of view. JKR owns. So, without further introduction, let the awkward ensue!

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Your mind races a thousand kilometres a second and your hands shake madly, so you wring them together, hoping that incessantly pulling on the other will cease the shaking of both. It didn't.

From across the table, your wife notices that something is not entirely kitsch with you, so she places her fork back onto her plate and looks you straight in the face.

"Neville," she says, and you can hear genuine concern in her voice, "you look awful. Are you feeling alright?"

Your eyes turn up and look at her, and suddenly you feel better. Doubt clouds your mind, doubts that it was her that calmed your nervous habit. Someone else had filled your mind, thoughts of _her_ had calmed you down. Her silvery blonde hair, the bubbly voice you missed so desperately, the inane babble you always paid attention to…you missed everything about her, and still she could assuage your nerves.

But you don't let any of this on to Hannah—your _wife_. You reach across the table, taking her hands into your own and smiling that infamous smirk. "I'm _fine_, Han," you tell her, though you know you're lying to her face. Then again, you've been lying to her for almost thirteen years.

Hannah nods, returning to her plate. "Hermione and I hope to get some _real_ work done today," she said, completely changing the subject. "We're reorganizing the department and the Minister said he would assist us personally."

You shake your head as her idolization of Kingsley Shacklebolt resurfaces. "You admire him so much," you comment, and watch as she blushes. She stands from the table, her pencil skirt hugging her curves, attributes she had accumulated over three pregnancies and a decade of maturation. You do admire her body—the one you had come to know so well—but suddenly your memories flash ones of _her_ and of the love you made to her in a rose patch perched precariously on the top of a hill, right in the middle of the moors. It was so beautiful and the magic you felt that day was…indescribable.

She quickly washes the dishes and then crosses over to you, wrapping her arms around you from behind. You want to cringe when she kisses the crown of your head before grabbing her satchel and heading out the door for work with a quick "I love you". You realize that you don't ever tell her you love her. Those three words you haven't actually stated in over five years and why? Because of a certain Luna Lovegood.

She had changed your life for the better, and you hadn't seen her or spoken to her in over ten years. Somehow, however, she still had a grip on you, a hold you couldn't shake. She was in your every thought from the time you opened your eyes in the morning till you shut them at night.

And that's when the unthinkable happened.

You heard a knock on the front door, so you went to answer it, figuring that Hannah had left something behind again—she was rather forgetful. When you opened the front door, you felt your heart skip a few beats. It wasn't Hannah.

An out of breath woman with long, mussed silvery blonde hair, bag in hand, stood on the doorstep, looking up at you like it had been too long. And it _had_ been.

"Luna," you say, almost like a sigh, and you wish to grab her and kiss her and take her right then and there, but you've learned control—well, at least a little bit. "What're you doing here?"

She's smiling at you and you nearly melt. "I got your letter," she says, and your eyes close upon hearing her voice. "I had to come as soon as I finished. You can't even know how I feel about you—how I've _always_ felt about you." She reaches up and wraps her arms around your neck and you can feel the tension in your body relax at the touch of her.

Hannah is at work. Your children have all gone away for the summer, and it's just you and her alone. Just like it had been thirteen years ago. Your arms pull her closer and you inhale her familiar scent—Dirigible Plums, lilac, and something uniquely _her_. "Oh, my love," you say through an exhale, holding her fast to you. Pulling away, you briefly notice that she's crying and so are you as the feel of a reunion overwhelms your every sense, and that's when your lips collide with hers.

The feel, the touch, and the taste of her hasn't changed. But as the two of you clumsily make your way to the sofa, stripping down to the nude, it's like you had never been apart, never been married, and had never become parents. It's just you and her, making love just like you always had, but this time was a bit more intense than before, more passionate. Her skin flush with yours and the sounds of light moans and heavy breathing is all you're paying attention to.

Two hours of lovemaking always left you tired, and the only time you had ever gone that long was with her. Afterwards, her cheek is planted against your chest as your bodies remain intertwined.

Suddenly you realize neither of you are teenagers, and the two of you have chosen separate paths and had settled for the ones you call spouses. Still, it didn't feel like settling—more like _reaching_—as the two of you breathed the same air again, held each other tightly and laughed softly without a care in world. Like you had never been apart.

But this moment, like the nine months you had previously spent entirely in love, would eventually come to an end. Just for now, though, you hold her to you like you were still nineteen and remember, at last, what it was like to be incandescently happy.


	4. Mad For It

"_What an…_interesting _necklace," Hermione shallowly commented about Luna's necklace._

"_It's a Charm, actually," Luna's lighter-than-air voice said before her wide blue eyes looked at you. "It keeps away the Nargles."_

You had fallen for her the first time she had spoken to you—four words and six syllables was all it took for you to realize you loved that oddball of a girl.

As you re-enter the Room of Requirement through the tunnel that led to Aberforth's home, those in hiding erupted into applause and cheers at the sight of the Trio. You smile, proud of all that your generation has achieved, and only one set of eyes is on you—_hers_.

She steps beside you as the infamous three recount their tale and explain what must be done. Their words, however important they are, are irrelevant to you—you have always supported them and that wouldn't change. Only one thing was on your mind—her hand had found yours and before she took you by the hand outright, she slipped a small, folded slip of paper into your jeans pocket.

Once everyone assumes their battle stations, you were free to read the letter.

"**Neville,**

**Harry mentioned once that all of us are heroes in our own way, but he was wrong. Among us, the only hero I see is you. I doubt that I'll live to see daybreak, so I wanted you to know how proud I am to say with confidence that I knew Neville Longbottom well.**

**Don't forget the littler people when you're famous!**

**-Luna."**

A wide grin crosses your face and suddenly you are overcome with emotion for her and run off to try and find her before things got too hectic. A newfound drive gave you speed as you frantically try and find her, energy bursts forth from you with a force you have never experienced before. _She_ was that energy, and you were mad for it and for her.


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